


And we shall sow a garden upon the graves

by The_Librarian



Category: Captain Harlock
Genre: Consequences, Gen, Original personalities anyway, Post-Canon, Reflection, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-24
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-14 21:55:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29673840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Librarian/pseuds/The_Librarian
Summary: The crew of the Arcadia deal with the aftermath of the battle against the Gaia Legion and the revelations about Earth. For a given value of 'deal'.
Kudos: 2





	1. Breaking the silence at the end of the funeral

**Author's Note:**

> This is not the space opera I expected to write. I had planned to use the break in writing my latest FMA epic to put some time in on my next Star Wars fic. Which I did. But for reasons that now escape me, I put the Space Pirate: Captain Harlock 2013 CGI movie on as background noise at one point and . . . it's kinda got its hooks into me. I wouldn't call it good, or defend it as an especially novel or coherent piece of work (perhaps part of that is only having access to the dub), but enough of it stuck with me that I wanted to know what happened next. So I decided to write that.
> 
> I have no idea whatsoever how often I'll be updating this or if I'll carry it to a conclusion, but it seems a waste to have written nearly 10000 words and not share them.
> 
> Using the dub names because that's how I watched the film.

“So let me get this straight,” said Júlio, in the tone of someone about to attempt a herculean task for which ey anticipated minimal praise.

The others around the table lowered their tankards and looked at em expectantly. Franz bit through the peanut he'd just flipped into his mouth and swallowed. “Yeah?”

“The captain spent a hundred years planting giant bombs across the universe because he said they'd make the Genesis Clock thingumy turn time back to before Earth was completely wasted. Only what they'd _really_ have done is blow everything up and maybe even start it over again.”

“What's even the difference?” Owls wondered, staring into his drink, “Either way, we'd not be here to see what happened next.”

Cantro frowned at him “What are you talking about? The whole point of winding back time was we'd wake up with Earth all back to how she was.”

“And how would _that_ work? Time gets rewritten, what d'you think happens to us? In a better world, our parents might never have met or even been born!”

“Definitely a better world if _your_ parents never met.”

“The point,” Júlio growled, “is the captain was lying to everyone. He always meant to blow up the universe.”

A murmur of agreement ran around the table. Franz flicked another peanut into the air, catching it between his teeth. “Yep.”

“And at the same time, the new kid was lying too 'cos he was actually a spy for the Gaia Legion.”

Owls spat on the ground. “Sneaky bastard.”

“Eh, he turned it around,” Cantro retorted, “Got us all out.”

“ _Because_ ,” Júlio continued with an air of suffering dignity, “the Coalition was lying to everyone as well. Earth _wasn't_ this perfectly saved thing kept all nice and shiny by the Legion, and they were all covering up the fact it'd been wrecked. Because the captain – back before he was the captain – blew up the _Arcadia_ trying to make a barrier around the planet and it all went completely screwy.”

“You'd think that've maybe put him off trying to blow shit up to solve all his problems.”

Franz scowled. “I don't think that was him blowing the ship up, was it? I thought Miime said he got her to _unleash_ the dark matter.”

“What, like open up the top of the engine and just . . . poof?” Cantro mimed something that could have been either cotton candy or a mushroom cloud. “There's a button for that?”

“Probably. Right next to lever that puts skulls on everything and the dial that controls how melodramatic the ship's lighting is.”

“You are _literally_ wearing a skull necklace and you're gonna complain about the ambiance?”

“Who's complaining? I'm just saying –”

Júlio shoved eir hands into eir hair. “Guys.”

“Yeah, sure, sorry. Go on.”

“All right. The captain dumped the dark matter around Earth and the _Arcadia_ got all evilified, and the Earth really did get shielded, but also kinda broken. And the Coalition looked at that and decided if everyone knew it was all wrecked, they'd lose power. So they built a big hologram to make like everything was still OK. Which is . . . that's a lot of trouble to go to, yeah?”

Cantro snorted. “Which would you pick? The cost of putting up a giant picture or being torn to pieces by angry spacers because you'd let their holy land get burnt down?”

“Also,” Owls added, “How'd any of us know how much trouble it'd be? Projectors that big have been illegal for a century.”

“For obvious reasons,” Franz finished, reaching for his tankard.

Júlio shut eir mouth with an audible clack, visibly putting together two pieces of information ey'd not connected previously. “Right,” ey said eventually, “But now it's all in the open because the new kid flew down to Earth and picked a flower.”

“Right after betraying us to the Legion.” Owls glared pointedly at Cantro.

Cantro matched him glower for glower. “And right _before_ betraying the Legion to save us all from being atomised to death.”

“Because the Earth is actually recovering down there, underneath all the dark matter and stuff, and that's . . . good?” Júlio blinked and looked around at the others. “That _is_ good, isn't it? It means we'll be able to go home one day. I mean . . . maybe not us, us, but humans. Which is what we all want. Right?”

Silence hung over the table, heavy and awkward. Franz looked at Cantro. Cantro rubbed at the tattoo on his scalp and glanced at Owls. Owls spat on the ground again and looked at his boots.

“Yeah,” Júlio sighed, “I kind of figured it wasn't just me.”

  
  


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“Two's in decent shape, but Three took the brunt, on top of nearly getting eaten by whatever-the-hell-it-was back at that failed colony. One of the stanchion's snapped clean through and – look, I'm good, but there's no way I can mend that to flight-ready.”

Kei followed Maji's grease-stained finger. It shouldn't have been possible for an industrial-grade load-lifter to look like a baby bird with a broken wing but somehow the pile of bent metal in the corner of the hangar gave exactly that kind of impression. Either being torn free of its mooring gantry or the impact at the end of the drop had twisted it up like one of Cookie's pretzels.

“OK,” Kei said, pinching the bridge of her nose, “What about Lifter One?”

Maji shrugged. Her hair, like always, stuck up in a messy brush that was at least thirty percent engine oil. Like always, Kei was fighting the urge to pat it back down. “I had it up in the machine shop before everything kicked off. It's still intact and it's still busted because I haven't had time to get back to fixing it, what with the . . . everything.”

“All right. Can you make time for it now at least?”

There were a disturbing number of gold teeth in Maji's grin, given the sick bay was perfectly capable of seamless dental replacement. “I'm chief engineer on a ship that can repair itself. I always have plenty of time, when we're not being shot out of space by ancient super-weapons.”

“Great. Thank you. Is there anything else I need to know about?”

Which – of course there was. A universe full of threats and potential problems that it was a first officer's duty to anticipate.

“Eh. Most of the hardsuits need some patching. Lucky for us, the Legion left us plenty of spare parts.”

Kei grimaced. Stripping the dead legionaries before spacing the bodies had been the kind of unpleasant task she'd felt obliged to get personally involved with rather than simply delegating it entirely. But it wasn't as if they could afford to waste the resources.

“Beyond that . . .” Maji shrugged. “It's just a few other things the ship doesn't count as part of itself. A couple of broken stasis crates and some of the welding equipment. Nothing it should be too hard to replace.”

If they ever got around to mounting a raid or docking with a trading post – no. Not if. _When_. Kei refused to make it into a question. “OK. Carry on. But tell me if you need any help down here.”

“Me? Need help fixing stuff? That'll be the day!”

It occurred to Kei on the way out of the hangar that the reason she liked Maji was, outside of conversations like that, they rarely needed to bother one another. The older woman was an easy-going tinkerer, never happier than when knee-deep in grimy machinery. She'd never started any fights or slacked on important tasks, never given Kei any lip. Most of the crew liked her and those that didn't weren't stupid enough to upset the person who kept their suit-seals tight. So most of the time she faded into the background, quietly getting on with her job.

Which was kind of an awful thing to like someone for. Was that really what Kei wanted from everyone? For them to fit neatly into a routine and never trouble her? No – surely not. It got a bit grating sometimes but the banter with the others wasn't sometime she'd wish away. And half her job was keeping all the ill-fitting pieces running along smoothly. She'd miss that, if everything got along fine without her. It was part of her life, part of how _she_ fit in aboard the _Arcadia_.

 _This ship is my home. It's all I have._ The words came back to her, unwarranted and unwanted. She'd meant them, when she was trying to convince the captain to get back in the fight. But the memory that comes with them is not that moment. It's from before: standing on the bridge, the captain cold and imperious as he ordered her to doom everything.

For all his reserve and ice, that was the first time she'd ever known him to flat-out demand someone do as he said. To pull hard on the chain of command they all accepted was there and yet never seemed to need. That was the point, after all. It wasn't a chain if you chose it. And they had chosen it freely because they trusted him. Because they believed.

But now . . .

Kei stopped and, very deliberately, punched the wall. It hurt, of course. She was not so diamond hard as she liked everyone to think she was, not literally. But that pain was better than the memory. Which, she supposed, was why she was still walking the rounds, following familiar routines and keeping everything going just like before.

It was easier than the alternative.

Whatever that was.

  
  


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“Stop fidgeting. Or do I need to look around the back to check your spine's still there?”

Trying not to sigh, Logan schooled his face out of the grimace it had set into when the doctor started with the bright lights and prodding. He didn't point out that wincing while someone came for your eyes was a perfectly natural human instinct, not a question of individual courage. Under the circumstances, it seemed safer not to.

Besides. If he was being honest, his discomfort had nothing to do with the examination.

The _Arcadia_ 's doctor was a short, stout man with greying, thinning hair and would have been entirely unremarkable in any context other than a ghostly pirate ship drifting through the dark depths of space. And all that was remarkable about him _in_ that context was how out of place he looked, with his gleaming white scrubs and fastidious manner.

Only . . . the man was in a wheelchair.

A fairly mundane one, all things considered. It had actual wheels, not anti-grav lenses, and while it could manoeuvre him upright, he ended up no taller than he would have been with the use of his legs. He did not even come close to looming over Logan.

Not like Ezra had.

The light snapped off, leaving Logan swimming in afterimages. He had to guess the pneumatic hiss and relieved sigh meant the doctor had folded himself back on to his wheels. “Sit there until you can see again,” the man's voice said, receding across the room, “I'll be back in a minute.”

“Sure.” Logan blinked with the eye he could still move and flexed his hands. They ached from hours spent gripping the _Arcadia_ 's wheel, flinging the ship about as the fury of the Solar fleets rained down upon them. He couldn't quite believe they'd escaped.

Couldn't believe a lot of what had happened to him recently, come to that.

“Right,” said the doctor, wheeling back towards him. “You'll need to wear this.” He handed Logan a triangle of grey material just about the right size to fit across his eye.

It was cold when he pressed it to his face, instantly numbing the raw discomfort of the wound.

“You're lucky. A few microns and you'd have nothing but a splattering of jelly where that eye used to be. As it is, we've a chance at repairing the damage. More of one, if you'd gotten down here sooner.”

“Sorry, doc. I was kind of busy with the giant space-battle.”

“Yes, well, feel free to use the eyepatch to hold that on. I'd hate to think trying to save your sight was cutting into your swashbuckling.”

Logan laughed. Not because it was a particularly funny piece of sarcasm so much as because – well. Forget unbelievable. It was _absurd_ that he was there. Absurd that he was running around dressed like a pirate, wearing his scars and pistol like badges of honour when the truth was . . .

Otherwise.

“Don't worry. I'm not planning on getting into any more firefights for a while.”

“Hmm.” The doctor folded his arms. “Good luck with that on this ship.”

“Thanks. How long will I need to keep this on?”

“Until we see some improvement or pass beyond the point where that's likely. Just come in every four days or so for a check-up. Fair warning: side-effects may include dizziness and a sharp drop in your sex appeal because some washed-up quack stuck a med-patch across half your face.”

“Anyone ever complimented you on your bedside manner?”

“Every sucker on this damned hulk, right after I didn't amputate something important.”

“I'll follow their example.” Logan pushed himself off the examination table, taking a second to look around as he gauged his balance. The sickbay was one of those parts of the Arcadia that could easily have belonged on a perfectly normal ship. No overtly ghoulish touches or skull-and-bone aesthetics. The equipment was probably horribly outdated but Logan wasn't planning on thinking about that too hard –

“Huh.” He reached slowly for his jacket then pointed to the med-patch. “Will the dark matter affect this at all?”

Swivelling his chair around with a groan, the doctor made a b-line for one of the wall cabinets. “Right, I haven't given you the talk yet, have I?”

The buzz of motors was nothing like the smooth hum of Ezra's chair, and yet –

The doctor pulled out a bottle and a glass, pouring himself a measure of clear liquid. “OK. Here's what it is. The dark matter isn't going to magically heal all your wounds or let you regrow limbs. Please don't try chopping off your own hand to test this – it is not a theory.” He took a swig from his glass, smacking his lips in satisfaction. “Yes, the dark matter permeates everything on this hell-ship and yes, it can perform miracles up to and including keeping a man alive for a hundred years. But at the level of you or me, it's erratic, unpredictable and about as good for your health as a grenade enema. So take any ideas you have of becoming a spooky unkillable pirate king and put them in a little box marked 'not gonna happen.' Got it?”

“Sure. Got it.” Logan fished in his pocket for the leather eyepatch the captain had given him, right before they took off from Earth. He weighed it in his hand. “But you definitely don't mind if I dress the part?”

The doctor rolled his eyes. “Whatever keeps you going, kid. Whatever keeps you going.”

Slinging his jacket over his shoulder, Logan started for the door. He stopped just short of the threshold and looked back. “So what happened after the crash? Everyone seemed to come awake at once – are you saying that was nothing to do with the dark matter?”

“Not a damn clue. Just colour me glad I got to wake up at all.”

“Right. Thanks again, doc. See you in four days.”

Cradling his glass, the other man rolled a step or two closer. “Come by sooner if you need,” he said, peering intently at Logan, “And I mean that. I'm here to keep everyone going. In here –” He tapped his chest. “– and up here.” He poked the side of his head.

_The shot burning across Logan's face. The hologram of Nami smiling sadly among the flowers. Ezra going still, that final sneer fading along with the light from his eyes._

The fact that merely looking at someone who shared the same kind of injury as his brother got Logan remembering every harsh word, every resentful look, every angry blow . . .

“Sure,” he repeated lightly, “Got it.”

  
  


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The city was beautiful.

Cardinal Reth would stare at it for hours sometimes, looking down at pathways and towers that glittered in the weak Martain sunlight. Bold proof the human species could still prosper. A testament to the faith that had bound humanity back together after strife nearly tore everything asunder.

But like all things of glass and artistry, it was fragile. And today, the Cardinal felt that fragility all too keenly.

“Have you read the reports?” he asked, not turning from the windows.

Behind him, footsteps sounded against the marble floor, slow and precise. “I have.”

“Then you know why you are here.”

The footsteps stopped. “I assume, eminence, that you wish me to succeed where the Legion failed.”

Reth's mouth flattened into a grim line. “Failure is a small word for this catastrophe.” He stepped back and moved to his desk, its halo of displays all showing more or less the same thing:

A giant warship, prow contorted into a skull and cross-bones, smashing its way through the combined fleets of the solar system.

“It does seem a show of military force did little but prove the _Arcadia_ 's indestructibility.”

Reth grunted. “Prefectus Ezra made an art out of counter-productivity. The Legion has paid dearly for his hubris.”

“I understand that by the end, Solar Federation forces greatly outnumbered those directly under the Council's control. That must be making it hard to contain certain . . . information.”

The Cardinal looked up sharply. “That is in hand. And not your concern.”

His visitor met his gaze with cool indifference, pale eyes untroubled by the reprimand. “No, your eminence.”

“Yes. Well.” Reth cleared his throat and steepled his fingers. “In light of the Legion's inability to end the threat posed by the warship _Arcadia_ , the responsibility falls to us. These pirates cannot be seen to visit destruction upon the Gaia Coalition and escape without consequence. Their strike against the sanctified zone was an abomination. For them to evade justice in the aftermath is unthinkable. Therefore.” He leaned forward slightly. “Accessor Drake – you are hereby appointed to lead the pursuit. It was this division's intelligence that allowed Ezra to attempt his misguided gambit. We shall complete the task he could not.”

Amidst the grandeur of the Cardinal's office, the grey-coated figure before his desk seemed ridiculously insignificant. The uniform of a council functionary was not intended to be eye-catching and Drake herself was the drabbest person Reth had ever known. A short, sallow woman with a bob of dusty brown hair, the only notable features she possessed were those eyes, utterly devoid of fear or interest, even in the presence of those vastly far above her own station. He rather suspected she wouldn't display the slightest curiosity or deference had he introduced her to the Imperial Father himself, which was one of the many reasons he would have sooner shot himself than done so.

Drake was the single most effective investigator in Reth's entire division because it was practically impossible to believe that she was paying attention and because, without fail, she was.

Predictably enough, she received the news of her appointment without blinking. “What resources will I have to accomplish this goal?”

“Whatever is required. In the Legion's disgrace, we find the opportunity to take precedence. Ships, troops, equipment – name it and you shall have it.”

“Thank you, eminence. My first request would, however, be for information.”

“You shall have unfettered access to all systems.”

“Without restriction?”

Reth's eyes narrowed. The question was bland but he could see the knife lurking behind it. “I doubt there is much you don't already know.”

“Perhaps. But it would be inconvenient to discover a barrier in the middle of the chase.”

He breathed in, nostrils flaring prodigiously. Then exhaled. “The truth must be managed for the good of all. But first it must be understood. There will be no restrictions. I trust you to exercise good judgement in which pieces of information you share with those working under you.”

Drake bowed at the waist. “Of course, eminence.” She straightened, blank stare drifting to the still-circling holograms. “Are there any further instructions?”

“Do not fail. Or, if you do, ensure it is far away from these halls and abandon all thought of returning.”

Had he used those words and that tone on any other officer under his command, the Cardinal was sure it would have resulted in gulps or cold sweats or, at the very least, a twitch of nervousness.

Drake remained utterly impassive and when she replied, she sounded nothing short of bored. “I understand. I will deliver Captain Harlock and his crew to you, and see the _Arcadia_ never threatens the Coalition again.”

Reth smiled, lifting a bejewelled hand in dismissal.

And as he watched the drab, unremarkable accessor walk away, he found himself pitying the pirates.


	2. The act of forgetting about the wake

A sea of stars lay beyond the _Arcadia_ 's bridge, the illusion of infinity stretched before the ship. The tumult of the universe reduced to a speckled cloak of distant suns, pinpoint candle flames picking out a great, milky sweep.

It was an astonishing sight, a galaxy seen from the void. It promised so much. Endless possibilities, worlds beyond imagining, a hope that the loneliness of here and now might find relief, somewhere, out there. Perhaps those promises could come true. But most likely not. They only existed in the human mind, after all, weaved together from starlight and guesses at what places long-since dead might have been like.

There was a time – and really, it was only days ago – when Harlock had been certain there was nothing out there. He had sailed that sea for over a hundred years and found nothing. The loneliness did not end. All that awaited around those stars was the heartbreak of an empty destination. Humankind – avaricious, destitute, homeless – would die a slow and hollow death in a graveyard millions of lightyears wide.

It was only now that he saw the what a comforting trap that conclusion was. If everything was already dead, lighting the funeral pyre was noble martyrdom. The end of pain, a heroic act of relief.

Was that what he had wanted? He, who always believed one person taking a stand could make a difference, seeing no other choice that _would_ make a difference . . . had he expected it to be his salvation? He thought didn't want redemption, had been sure that wasn't the point of anything he had done –

And yet the hope of it had broken him. Or unbroken him. Either way, the single flower Logan pressed so gently into his hand had been more terrible and more beautiful than any dream of renewing the universe.

There was a frantic flapping over Harlock's head then a settling creak as the bird landed on the top of his throne. He glanced up to watch it run its long beak through the feathers on its flank and it craned that impossibly skinny neck down to stare back at him.

Strange how he'd never thought to give the thing a name. He'd learned to take care of it, after it flapped aboard out of the dreary mash in which he planted detonator seventy-one. But actually naming the creature had always seemed . . . presumptuous. Or unnecessary.

He never counted it as true alien life, either. Perhaps because it was clearly a genetic modification of some Earth creature, part of a failed attempt to establish a compatible biome on a resource-starved planet. But then, he didn't count the monster that had nearly swallowed Lifter Three either, or any of the panoply of weird animals he had encountered over the years.

A rather perverse point of view, now he considered it. That life only mattered if you could have a conversation with it. He could not say there wasn't some kind of intelligence peering out from those beady eyes, glittering among the dark feathers. Enough to treat him as a safe perch in exchange for the occasional fetched object or squawked warning.

Perhaps giant space dragons and engineered waterfowl alike possessed rich internal lives that simply lay beyond his ability to comprehend. And perhaps they would enjoy those lives long after the last human turned to dust.

Something to think about. His attention wandered back to the starscape. He was not sure how long he'd been sitting there, admiring the view in empty silence. But he didn't especially feel like moving right now and the universe _was_ beautiful . . .

The bird crowed and settled in on its perch to keep him company.

  
  


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“Logan!”

He looked around in surprise, as if Kei addressing him was completely unexpected. Doing up his jacket must have been a more absorbing task than she thought if he hadn't heard her coming.

There was a line of bio-sealant on the red welt that crossed his nose and cheek, and the edges of a bandage showed beneath his eyepatch. Both served to make the wounds look considerably more dramatic. He'd gotten bashed about since joining them, this mop-headed kid she'd half expected to bottle and run at the first true danger.

Showed what she knew, clearly.

“Uh, hi.” He gave her a uneasy smile.

“Doc's finished with you, then?”

“Yeah.” His fingers dabbed at the bandage. “Says I might even get this back.”

“Well that's good news. I won't have to double the eyepatch budget.”

“There's a – ah. Hah.”

She slapped him on the shoulder. “You should probably go get some rest.”

He nodded, but it stopped halfway through. A shadow passed over his face. “Kei, I . . .”

 _Am looking way too serious for a conversation we're having in an open hallway_ , she mentally filled in while he fumbled for whatever he was trying to say. She was on the verge of repeating the thought aloud when he went on, “I'm sorry. About the spying and . . . I didn't want you to think I was just using you to sell the part.”

Kei remembered shock and betrayal when he'd kicked her off the collapsing platform. Remembered too how it turned to astonishment when Lifter Two's grasper closed around her and she realised he'd saved her life at the cost of a chance to escape.

“I don't think you were ever going to be a very good assassin if your first instinct is to protect one of the people you're trying to take down.”

“Yeah, well . . . I did try to shoot Harlock when he got me aboard the shuttle.”

“Really? That's when you decided to take him down?”

Logan half-smiled and looked down at his boots. “That's pretty much what he said.”

“I'm sure.” She put her hands on her hips. “Look . . . I'm not going to say I'm happy with you tricking your way on board. Or selling us out to your brother. But, hey. Saving the entire crew from being executed counts for a lot. If you weren't one of us before, you definitely are now.”

He glanced up again. “Yeah?”

“Absolutely. Now will you go get some sleep?”

Drawing himself up, he gave her a passingly decent salute. “Yes sir! I mean, as long as you're sure you won't need me back on the bridge any time soon . . .”

“I doubt it. We're in the middle of nowhere. There's no one going to find us here. It'll be safe to drift for a while. Go on”

He smothered a yawn and nodded, giving a more relaxed wave as he headed off towards the crew quarters. Kei looked after him for a second or two, considering his retreating back. Yes, he was definitely one of them now, chequered past and all. She wondered if she should share some of her own history. Make him comfortable with the comparison.

But . . . not yet. When she knew him a bit better, maybe. When she could properly tell the real Logan from the half-cocky, half-nervous recruit he'd first pretended to be – then it might be time for that kind of conversation.

Right now, she needed to get back to work. Or, more precisely, get back to working out what work needed to be done. They had taken one hell of a beating getting away from Earth and self-repairing ship or not, there was still a lot that needed putting back together. They'd lost equipment, supplies – and people. Doing the head count was the worst part after any battle and this time round was no exception. True, most of the crew took it in their stride at this point. No one signed on to a pirate ship for guaranteed safety. But that wasn't the point. In Kei's book, you went into the fight doing everything you could to get your ship-mates through it and anyone who didn't come out the other side was a black mark.

She wondered how recruitment would go, now that the Coalition's lies had been exposed to everyone in range of the _Arcadia_ 's transmission. That was for later too, though. First off, she needed to know who was going to be in mourning and who would be ready to get stuck back in.

Which normally meant checking in with the first mate, since keeping track of friendships, rivalries and who was bunking up with who was his job.

Right.

A hatch opened ahead of her, disgorging a youngish man with goggles pushed up into his red hair. He stiffened when he saw her, probably expecting her to set him to work.

“It's OK, Doly, everyone's off-duty as far as I'm concerned.” She chose to ignore the way he sagged in relief and added, “You haven't seen Yullian today, have you?”

“Uh . . . no, Kei, sorry. He not in his cabin?”

“Oh, probably. Thanks anyway.”

Yeah, she thought as she carried on along the passage, heels ringing louder on the deck as she quickened her pace. Yullian was probably in his cabin.

The same cabin she'd knocked at earlier and gotten absolutely no response.

  
  


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It took about ten minutes for Logan to realise he was completely lost. He figured at first he was just a lot more exhausted than he'd thought and was misremembering the route back to his bunk. Except trying to retrace his steps left him more turned around than before. He would have sworn the corridors behind him were not the ones he'd just walked down. Although that might have just been the lighting: were the overhead lamps _going off_ as he passed them?

He tried to catch them at it and walked smack into a bulkhead that had definitely not been there ten seconds earlier. When he turned around, the passage he'd come out of was gone and the only way forward was a new, brightly lit corridor leading off to his left.

The lamp above him blinked off.

Two things occurred to Logan more or less simultaneously. The first was that the _Arcadia_ was extremely large. While he'd always known abstractly, he was suddenly very aware of that size in comparison to himself. The ship was over a kilometre long, with a correspondingly large volume. He could wander its insides for days and quite possibly never run into another person. The crew was nowhere near as big as a vessel like this actually warranted.

Because – thing two – the _Arcadia_ was a literally haunted monster ship and if it decided to trap him like a rat in a maze, it could probably do so.

“Shit.”

The light above him came back on. It felt like a pat on the head.

He studied the path into which he was being herded. There was nothing to distinguish it from the other corridors he'd walked. Except, presumably, for what lay at the end.

Logan started walking, following the lights. He looked around for any sign he was being watched, for any trace of the intelligence that he assumed was guiding him. If those signs were there, he didn't have the expertise to see them.

“Toshiro?” he said, then raised his voice, “Toshiro Oyama?”

No response. Not even a creak or a groan.

He walked on, along one passage and then the next. Toshiro – or the _Arcadia_ , or whatever – stopped physically hemming him in after a while and simply shut off the lights in all the directions except the one Logan was meant to go. On and on – and _down_ , he realised after a while. Wherever this was leading, it was somewhere deep below the habitation decks.

“Uh . . . please don't drop me into space because I nearly got you disintegrated?”

Which – was unlikely, right? The _Arcadia_ had let him at the helm; that surely meant it didn't _dis_ like him.

Better safe than sorry.

“Look, while I'm apologising to people – I'm sorry for spying on you and the captain. I didn't really hear much but it was obviously private and . . . sorry about that.”

Did the lights brighten slightly after he'd said that? It was probably his imagination. He did feel better for having said it though. To the empty corridor.

“I'm going crazy,” he declared, “Or I need to start.”

Reaching the end of the corridor, he emerged into a chamber that partly reminded him of the main hangar deck and partly of a giant ribcage. Spot-lamps drew islands in a vast, machinery-filled gloom, a ring of them picking out one of the lifter-shuttles, hull opened up to show off the inner workings of its engines. Further back, a smaller, sleeker craft lay in a similar state of undress, cables snaking out of its core to what looked like a military-issue fusion balancer.

A maintenance bay? There wasn't much maintenance going on though. His footsteps filled the place and even the background hum and whir of the _Arcadia_ 's systems was lost in the emptiness.

Was this where Toshiro wanted him to be? Ah – no. He could see a lit opening at the far end, an arched tunnel that took the 'vaguely ribcage-ish' styling all the way to 'this is actually a giant throat'. Did a monster ship like this have some sort of stomach, Logan wondered, to his immediate regret –

“Whatcha doin'?”

“Having a heart-attack apparently,” he managed to choke once he was done jumping out of his skin.

The short, brown-skinned woman who'd appeared at his side gave a conciliatory shrug. “Sorry. You looked pretty absorbed so I didn't want to call out and startle you.”

“Great job.”

She snapped her fingers and pointed at him. “You're Logan, right? The new kid who helped argue the captain out of exploding the universe?”

“That's . . . not exactly what happened.”

“Well, whatever. I'm Maji. _Arcadia_ 's chief engineer.”

“Chief . . . _engineer_?”

“And since you'll already have had the talk about how this is a miracle spaceship that can take care of itself , let me be the first to say: all the jokes have been made. Usually by me. But seriously – you will be very grateful to have me around when you break your favourite gun or start getting stutters in your 'recreational' holo-chips.”

Logan's hand went to his side, over the inner-pocket in his jacket. He hadn't given Nami's hologram a thought since finding the field of flowers on Earth. There hadn't been time –

“So, like I said,” Maji ploughed on, “Whatcha doin' down here?”

“Oh, uh . . .” Logan hesitated then decided it wasn't worth the effort to try looking sane. “I think the ship wants to show me something.”

She nodded sagely. “It does that sometimes.”

“Really?”

“Oh, sure. Usually sends in muggins here, when there's some tricky repair it can't sort out itself. By which I mean, being able to grow back from damage isn't much use if there's something jammed in the works.” She gave the tunnel a sceptical look. “Though that's probably not what's going on here.”

“Why? What's down there?”

“Nothing, really. It'd be equipment storage if this was still a normal ship that needed spare parts. There's a few auxiliary water tanks and O2 recyclers, I think. Other than that . . . yeah, not a lot.”

“Want to come see why the ship's sending me there anyway?”

A bony elbow nudged him in the kidneys. “What, a big tough buccaneer like you, scared of going alone?”

“Tell me there's nothing to be scared of aboard this ship.”

Her grin widened. “After you, then.”

As they descended, Logan studied Maji from the corner of his eye. It was quite hard to gauge her age. Old enough to have lines on her face, but she kept pace with him easily and there wasn't a trace of grey in her hair. All in all, she was the least intimidating crewmember he'd yet met, despite the skull emblem on her overalls.

Of course, she'd also effortlessly snuck up on him in a room with no cover. Probably best not to make any rash judgements about her harmlessness.

They passed under a raised pressure door and walked down a few dozen more metres of tunnel. At the end was another huge, dark space that felt even emptier than the one they'd just left. Logan squinted, trying to make out anything that might be the object of this whole mystery tour.

And in a gesture that could only have said 'ta-da' more clearing if it had been accompanied by a chorus of trumpets, overhead floodlights snapped on at a blinding intensity.

“Ow,” Maji complained, throwing an arm over her eyes, “Turn it down a bit, you old ham.”

The illumination dipped to a more bearable level and Logan got his first proper look at the chamber. It was long and considerably narrower than the repair bay, though with much the same vaulted aesthetic. They were standing on a walkway that made a big 'U' around the room, some way above a floor covered in –

Logan ran for the edge of the gantry, all his weariness suddenly forgotten as he looked frantically for a way down.

Maji came up beside him, looking slightly worried. “Hey, are you – is that _dirt_?”

“It's soil,” he told her as he gave up on finding a ladder and hoisted himself over the railings, “and there's only one place it could have come from.”

The black-brown carpet cushioned his fall easily. It was loosely packed and by the feel of it, pretty deep. Kneeling, he dug his hand into it.

“You mean it's from Earth.” Maji's voice held the faint, dawning echo of the wonder he was feeling. “Don't you?”

“I guess the hull split when we crashed. And all this got swept inside.”

“And then the ship sealed around it? Makes sense. Guess I was wrong. Shit. Gonna a mess of a job to get all this shovelled out the airlock.”

Very slowly, Logan stood up, still rubbing some of the soil between his fingers. It piled up against the walls, rising over his head in some places. The was more earth in here than there'd ever been in his mother's greenhouse on Mars. Far more than seemed possible, if it had been scooped in by accident . . .

“No,” he breathed, “I don't think that's why Toshiro brought me here at all.”

  
  


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“Oh, goddamnit!” Owls snatched the bandanna from his head and threw it at the deck. “Again?!”

Júlio calmly reached over and knocked his king on its side. “Checkmate,” ey said, “Again.”

“ _How are you so good at this_?”

“I dunno. I practice a lot? Mostly by beating you.” Júlio grinned, adjusting his head-band. “Want to try again?”

“Absolutely.”

As they reset the board, Owls looked around the rec room, noting how much it had emptied out while he'd been focused on the game. Presumably most of the others had better things to do with their time than lose chess matches. He stopped as he caught sight of Jacob, still nursing a half-empty tankard in the corner.

“Hey.”

Halfway through lining up eir pawns, Júlio frowned at him.

“You reckon we should do something about that.”

Ey glanced over eir shoulder. “Like what? We can't exactly bring Tyson back to life.”

“I know, but – look at the guy.”

“They've been together since they joined up. I think that's _why_ they joined up. How you think he's going to look?”

“Yeah, it's just –”

“Leave the poor fuck alone,” rumbled a voice from behind Owls.

Right – he'd forgotten about Ishua, lying on the couch behind him, reading quietly. The guy was still there, one hand cradling his head, the other holding an actual, honest-to-God book. Owls had no idea where he'd got it, or any of the small library he kept sequestered away in his cabin. Did he raid them from the ships they hit? Trade for them on supply runs? At this point, it felt weird to ask.

Ishua's eyes flicked away from the page as if he could feel Owls watching him. Snapping the book shut, he swung his legs around and sat up, free hand running over his cornrows. “Just let him grieve in peace. If it's bothering you, go somewhere else.”

“Hey, I just want to help.”

He clearly didn't find Owls' protest all that convincing. But any further discussion on the matter was cut off a flustered Doly sticking his head around the door. “Uh . . . hey, anybody know what happened to tha' box of birdseed Mathieu tried to give to the captain?”

Júlio swivelled eir chair around. “Birdseed? Doesn't that thing only eats bugs and prawns?”

“Right, that was before you joined up.” Owls grabbed one of his abandoned bishops, twirling it in his fingers. “Yeah, thought it'd get him in good with Harlock and ended up looking like a total moron.” He blinked and shook his head. “No idea what happened to it afterwards. Why're you asking?”

“Uh . . .” Doly pulled a face. “Um, well, Logan's kinda gone a bit . . . space-crazed? He's running around, askin' everyone if we've got any seeds on board? I remembered that thing with Mathieu and thought mebe we still had the box somewhere.”

The three of them looked at each other to confirm they were all wearing the same blank expressions. “Must have gone into storage with the rest of his things,” Júlio said eventually.

Ishua got up. “I know where Yullian puts stuff that can't be used but might be good for trade some day. Might be there.”

“Hey, don't trouble yourself if it's gonna be hard to get to,” Doly told him, “I'm sure it'll keep.”

“Nah, s'OK. Better do it now if Logan's going buggy.”

“Right,” Owls muttered, “Wouldn't want the captain's understudy stumbling out an airlock while he's looking for _seeds_.”

Ishua gave him a withering look then patted Doly's shoulder. “Come on. S' in hold number one.”

“Logan's not so bad,” Júlio hazarded once they were gone. Ey was wearing one of those pained, 'I just want everyone to get along' expressions that never failed to set Owls' teeth on edge.

He slammed the bishop down on its square and quickly got the rest of his pieces lined up. “Are we going to play or what?”


End file.
